Kinky Christmas Erotica: A Saucy Santa’s Tale

Slave Santa

 In this short & sweet sexy story, we take a peek into Santa’s workshop. As you can imagine, in the run-up to Christmas, Santa is extremely hard at work. Just maybe not in quite the way you’re imagining.

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Slave Santa And His Cruel Mistress 1

The icy blast hit him with more bitter force than the harshest of Christmas Eve sleigh rides, turning his cheeks an even deeper shade of red than usual. As she continued her tirade against him for his latest misdemeanor -gift-tag related, again– his body responded of its own accord to her cutting jibes. He had no idea why his Mistress’ cruel taunts elicited such a warm, tingling rush in his nether regions; why the humiliation of being shouted at in front of all his elves always made him as stiff as steel.

A familiar pain throbbed deep in his overly-full balls at that thought. Steel. Of course that would spring to mind. Steel blocked him from enjoying the full potential of his stiffness, and he swallowed back a groan as his engorged cock struggled valiantly against the unyielding bars and padlock of the metal chastity cage.

To make matters worse –or better, and trying to decide which it was made his head spin- the key to his freedom was clearly displayed. All day, every day. It sparkled right in front of him in the workshop’s fairy lights, twisting and turning on the long chain between her breasts, framed by the low-cut white trim of her zipped red velvet catsuit.

“…and that is why, for the rest of today, you’ll be on gift-wrap duty by my feet! I quite obviously need to keep a closer eye on you if you cannot be trusted to do the job properly, even after all these years!” she hissed, anger dancing like flames in her dark eyes.

He dragged his eyes away from her generous cleavage and its taunting promise, bowing his head to stare at his boots instead. Hopefully his Mistress would be at least a little soothed by his abject subservience, and wouldn’t guess that the gesture was mainly to hide the raging lust flooding his mind and body with insistent heat. It wouldn’t do to provoke her further. He simply had to knuckle down and concentrate. No more mistakes. Not too much longer to wait; he simply had to hold on a few more days.

“Yes Mistress,” he replied hoarsely, humiliation threatening to render him entirely speechless.

He could feel the amusement of the elves at the tables and machines throughout the workshop. Some would be making a pretense of getting on with their tasks, while others would be shamelessly enjoying the show. She didn’t seem to care; in fact she actively encouraged a delighted audience.

Fucking bitch.

A renewed jolt of pain in his balls reminded him that while he may protest, he needed this. He needed her. Just a few more days. He chanted the mantra in his mind, and clinged to it for comfort as he obediently made himself busy by her booted heels. She had promised, after all. And everyone knows Santa comes once a year. Just once.

Mistress Sutra

Slave Santa And His Cruel Mistress 2

King of the elves indeed. The great man in red. Well, it was time to yet again prove who was really in charge here. The blasted idiot had forgotten to gift-tag before bagging yet again, and it just wasn’t acceptable. She knew he was at his most distracted, with just a few days to go until Christmas, but she couldn’t afford to go easy on him now. There were targets to meet. In any case, she didn’t want to go easy on him. Where’s the fun in that?

Curling her fingers round the whip handle tucked into her belt, she forced the threat of a grin from her face and adopted a suitably ferocious expression instead.


He dropped his work and paled at the sound of her screech in a most satisfying manner.

“Get your lazy ass over here this instant, you useless sack of shit!”

She saw rather than heard him automatically mouth the word ‘Mistress’ in response, as he hurriedly shuffled from his stool up to her ostentatious gilt throne at the top of the workshop.

While he made his way, she fought against the familiar tingling between her red-velvet-clad thighs. The tight fit of the catsuit didn’t help her battle against the flare of arousal, with the slightest movement causing the zipped fabric to tighten maddeningly against her engorged clit, while white trim and a dangling key teased between generous breasts. They rose and fell with every impatient breath.

Finally, he was close enough for her to begin. The atmosphere in the workshop had become almost tangibly expectant; the elves did so love her little performances, with Santa a well-suited sidekick. Often literally. She crossed her booted legs firmly against the distracting throb of her clit, then began.

“How many fucking times have I told you about gift tags? That they’re unbelievably important? You know how important they are, because if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times!”

He blanched at the icy sting of words spat in his direction, especially considering the amused audience filling the workshop behind him.

“I don’t even know why I keep you on here, apart from the absolute kindness of my heart, knowing you have absolutely nowhere else to go. I let you take the credit for all of my hard work, year in and year out, and still you fail me regularly… It’s throwing my generosity in my face and I won’t have it! Do you hear me, you ungrateful little bastard?!”

“Yes Mistress…” he just about croaked at her, and she could see embarrassment battling his deeper, more carnal urges. She prided herself on knowing exactly which buttons to press to cause him maximum humiliating chaste pain.

A wave of arousal threatened to overwhelm her and ruin the performance entirely; she gripped the handle of her whip more fervently than ever and kept her legs firmly crossed. A deep breath, and she continued.

“You’ll feel my displeasure across your back before the day is out for your constant mistakes, and your flagrant disrespect both for me and for everyone who works here. You know how important this project is –and it’s only once a year, for fuck’s sake, so you think you could get it right!”

His natural defence against almost overwhelming humiliation had kicked in, and she could tell he was in a different dimension. One in which he had his chubby fingers wrapped round the sparkling key between her breasts, if where his zoned-out gaze had come to rest was anything to go by. She always had the most fun with him in the final few days before his annual release, when his need was most desperately urgent and she could anticipate and manipulate his every move and reaction.

She took a few extra deep breaths for good measure. He looked as if he might faint at any moment. She needed to wrap this up before she orgasmed right there in her seat, saturating the tightly zipped fabric against her pulsing labia and exposed clit.

“…and that is why, for the rest of today, you’ll be on gift-wrap duty by my feet! I quite obviously need to keep a closer eye on you if you cannot be trusted to do the job properly, even after all these years!”

His gaze finally fell to the floor, and she knew he must be struggling to retain control of himself as he whispered out his final acceptance of her will. The balance between retaining a chaste slave with a humiliation fetish who came but once a year, while not losing him to his stubborn male ego, was always precarious. Straddling his submissive needs and his sexual needs was a fun ride, however. She’d wager it was even more fun than spending Christmas Eve driving a heavy sleigh through frosty skies.


Slave Santa And His Cruel Mistress 3

“You did well today, my darling. You know I’m only so hard on you because I love you, and you need my cruelty if you’re to feel truly fulfilled.”

“I know, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress. You are kind to your slave.”

“Only a few more days, and you’ll taste release once again. You can do that, for me, can’t you my love?”

“Yes Mistress. I’d do anything for you.”

She could hear the ache in his voice, a year’s-worth of pent-up need approaching its peak.

“Good boy. Just try to do a good job, won’t you.”

He shifted as if to move away, reading a dismissal in her words.

“No…” she continued, uncrossing her thigh-booted legs and moving her fingers to the dual-zip of the red velvet catsuit.

“I mean I want you to do a good job… right now.”

He did groan then, a low, keening wail of a groan which could only be borne of cruelly chaste pain. A moan of realization, as her fingers moved the dual-zip down behind her belt into position at her navel, keeping her catsuit completely fastened except the area she now revealed with the lower zipper. Standing briefly to pull the zip between the apex of her thighs and up past her buttocks behind, she sat once again with legs spread then beckoned his desperately hungry, kneeling form forwards.

The glint of the key between her breasts remained alluring, but for now there was only the glistening of her slick, spread labia beneath the twinkling lights of the empty workshop. He briefly wondered whether he might be dreaming; and quickly decided he didn’t care. Tentatively inching forwards, careful to touch her with no other part of himself than nose and tongue, he determined to show her his true worth as her slave.

She tasted of Christmas. Her juices coated his mouth, lips and nose like cinnamon-spiced honey, and he drank his fill while sating her appetite for pleasure, too. His tongue swirled inside her tight pussy like a candy cane in hot chocolate, while Eskimo-kissing her exposed, demanding clit. He wondered if he may drown right there, clamped between her red velvet thighs, spiked heels resting on and digging into his back as she lost herself to pleasure.

Each guttural moan from above, each squeal as her clit tingled and she approached climax, caused his balls to simultaneously fill and contract. It was as if she held a chain locked tightly around his arousal in a tightly-leashed grip, and yanked it cruelly through every sensual articulation. If not for the steel preventing any chance of an erection, he knew he would cum right then and there without the need to touch; just from the sounds of her pleasure. The pleasure he was able to give her with his mouth.

Just a few more days, he reminded himself as her breaths quickened in time with his attentions, and her squeals approached that glorious, climactic pitch. Please, let him last a few more days, he begged soundlessly as her sugar walls contracted around his thrusting, swirling tongue and she involuntarily dragged him tighter against her by her heels, expelling her fierce orgasm with a long cry of relief.

Just how he was supposed to last, how he was supposed to concentrate –especially after tonight- he didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t have a choice.  And fuck, how he loved that fact.

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